Night Sweep

Unintentional delay.

Click-stream rip tide.

Well by feline feeding time.

Sunless cold, cradled in the dark.

Really should have.

How about just not?

Morning would be meaner.

Not the way to start a day, unless it can’t be helped.

Brain-freeze and should-have bantering,

brooming sets and drifts.

Airborne, played by wind, curtain-carried white.

Slippery banister, lights just right.

Gusted hostas, sculpted ice.

A pocket phone for fear of falling.

Over-ridden, night-cast calling:

melodic whistling, otherwise quiet,

sharpened sculptures by layers and last,

hint back to warmth, pretty in the past.

So gorgeous in present.

Advantages exist for shoveling at night.

A fashion-less show, weather demanded:

bull’s eye red coat, Michigan-Michelin style.

Plus puffed purple gloves, hounds-tooth & hemmed hat.

Photo-ops. No qualms, anymore.

Can’t order pizza, if there’s no path to the door.

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this is my truth

This is my truth. It’s complicated. It’s sequential. It’s simultaneous.

There is no straight path from here.

There is no ‘succinctly’ about it.

Understand there’s going to be temptation to argue it with me. Please don’t.

We could discuss it, but you’re only going to frustrate yourself.

I’ve lived this story-line. I know it how went for me, how it must go forward for you, and how hard it’s going to be for all of us.

I’m not saying you’re going to be wrong from where you’re looking on.

I’ve said it before. Bear with my repeat.

Scientifically, you cannot stand next to me and see the exact same thing.

Your angle affects your impression: size, shape, color, shadows.

Your history affects your perception.

Combined memories can be conflicting.

Every breathing minute moves me away from that one.

Details don’t dim. Everything around expands.

Moments get wider, more complex, more disturbing, circularly clearer, oddly uplifting, occasionally somewhat strangely amusing.

Some, by the Grace of God, will remain blessedly unresolved.

At least, until we all get where we’re going.

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